Fluffy Tom
by Caporal
Summary: A romantic interlude in the lives of two seventh-years. Includes footsie, Slytherin socks, and groan-worthy irony. Slash, (TR/AM)


Disclaimer: Alastor Moody and Tom Riddle are not mine, but the characterization of the latter is. If JKR ever does this to him, I *will* pitch a fit.  
  
Warnings: This is fluffy slash. It is fluffy Tom/Alastor slash, no less, with groan-worthy irony You no like, you no read. Savvy?  
  
A/N: Yes, you read it right. Fluffy!Tom is the result of yet another Coven challenge. I rather like him, actually. Excuse the ending, it was the quick and dirty way, and I apologize in advance. Again, I can't get good formatting, so you'll have to satisfy yourself with asterisks and underscores.  
  
~~*~~Fluffy!Tom~~*~~  
  
At first glance, Tom Marvolo Riddle, Slytherin seventh year and Head Boy, and Alastor Moody, Gryffindor, also a seventh year, prefect, were doing nothing more innocuous than studying Arithmancy. But that was at first glance. An astute observer would have noticed that they were sitting just a bit closer together than was strictly necessary, certainly closer than most teenaged boys would usually sit, even on such a small couch. Their heads were bent down over a very large, very old book, but they also seemed a bit more preoccupied with sidelong glances into each other's eyes than in the text. Finally, and only the very curious would see this, their ankles were loosely intertwined beneath the table. It was probably unconscious, like the way when one reached to turn the page and the other restrained his hand, the touch lingered just a little bit too long.  
  
But no one did notice it, because the two boys were completely alone in the small alcove, shelter provided by the towering shelves of the enormous Hogwarts library.  
  
"Look, Al. Do you intend to pass the Arithmancy NEWT or not?"   
  
"Of course I do, but-"  
  
"No buts. If you want to pass, then you need to at least *try* to learn the basics. Euclid's Theory of Transnumerational-"  
  
"I *am* trying, Tom." Alastor gazed up at him through (adorable, really) floppy brown hair with pretty blue puppy-dog eyes. "But calling the Transnumerational whatsit basic..."  
  
"...is exactly correct." Tom's eyes were a different blue; dark and fiery and eerily (pleasurably) intense. "Why did you ever take Arithmancy in the first place? You *hate* it."  
  
Even Tom couldn't hear Alastor's mumbled response. "Come again?"  
  
"Becauseyouweretakingit."   
  
"Ah" Tom was smiling now, a mischievous grin tugging at his (very kissable) lips. "I understand now. It was a Nefarious Plan to get yourself the best tutor in the school, wasn't it?"  
  
"You could say that." Alastor, at least, had become aware of their entwined ankles, and Tom was about to find out very soon as his counterpart began sliding his be-socked foot up his calf.  
  
Tom twitched almost imperceptibly as Alastor's toes reached into his own sock, peeling it off with unprecedented skill.   
  
"Is something wrong, Tom?" Alastor asked innocently.  
  
"Just an itch" was the sweet response  
  
"So, scratch it"  
  
Tom reached an pale, elegant hand down to Alastor's anklebone and tickled it gently. This time the Gryffindor was the one to twitch, exhaling softly at the touch.  
  
"Alright, Al?"  
  
"Just an itch."  
  
And Alastor reached down to take hold of Tom's other foot, drawing it up into his lap, divesting him of his other sock. He held up the green piece of fabric and haughtily examined the coiled snakes embroidered on it -in this, as in all things, Tom was Slytherin to the core- before airily tossing it aside.  
  
"That's *mine*, you plebeian." Tom exclaimed in mock-affront. "The affairs of Hogwarts' Head Boy should be treated wi-"  
  
But he was cut off as Alastor leaned over and kissed him firmly on the mouth.  
  
Alastor's left hand reached up to tangle in jet-black hair while the other crept around Tom's waist, long dark lashes brushed against his tanned cheeks, their torsos, hips and knees aligned, although not perfectly; Alastor was stocky and firmly built, while Tom was tall, and, he sometimes thought, ethereal: tall and pale and too painfully beautiful to really be human.   
  
But he was human enough now, gasping slightly under Alastor's familiar touch, reacting to each kiss as if it was the first, looking at him through desire-clouded eyes each time they broke apart as if there was nothing so beautiful or, really, anything else at all in his entire world. Alastor enjoyed nothing so much as knowing he was the only one who could do this to the usually invulnerable Slytherin. Of course, there were other things he enjoyed about this as well.  
  
He slid his hand down Tom's leg, eliciting a quite satisfactory shudder. There were, of course, repercussions, and Alastor was soon distracted as the other boy broke their kiss and began *licking* his neck. Pleasure so intense it was almost painful spread through Alastor's body, as he very nearly *writhed* at the mercy of Tom's experienced tongue. He arched his back, lifting his head and digging his hips into Tom's...*oh*. Oh. A grin wicked enough for a Slytherin crossed his face, and his hand began to wander other places.  
  
****************************  
  
"Tom?"  
  
"Mmm?"  
  
"What do you want to do? After Hogwarts, I mean."  
  
Tom grinned up at him. "This"  
  
Alastor chuckled appreciatively and hit his shoulder. "I've decided. I want to be an Auror."  
  
"That's ambitious of you."  
  
"I'll take that as a compliment."  
  
"You should."  
  
"You should do it with me."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You should become an Auror with me. You're undoubtably good enough."  
  
"Somehow, Al, I just don't think that's my thing."  
  
"Of course not. Aurors and fiendish sex-demons just don't mix."  
  
'And I suppose you prefer the latter?"  
  
"Damn straight."   
  
**************************  
  
A/N: I live on reviews. Will you starve a poor slasher? 


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